


Exposure Therapy

by Biczarrk



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Depression, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Knifeplay, Light BDSM, M/M, Masochism, Mental Instability, Needles, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Rough Sex, Triggers, wound licking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 18:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17268992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biczarrk/pseuds/Biczarrk
Summary: Yuki is in love. He and Momo are doing better, and his mental health is improving. Despite everything, he can't seem to get over his fear of knives and blood. There's too much of the painful past wrapped up in the prospect of pain and injury. Momo has an idea for how to help him get better, though--a very, very bloody idea.Takes place during the re:member days.





	Exposure Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> takes a brief break from hypmic fic to write this. weirdly the most vanilla thing i've written in months, even though this is super explicitly not vanilla? this is way longer than i thought it would be lol  
> for anyone unfamiliar with my fics: i am too lazy to line edit for spelling errors on pieces or updates more than 1.5k, so if there are typos (which i'm sure there are), that's just how it is

Above Yuki’s head, stars swirl against the ceiling. They look like jacks, the tiny children’s toys, clinking against the edge of his vision. His arms feel numb, legs even moreso. Even without moving, he’s dizzy. The room tilts. He closes his eyes.

Yuki remembers someone once telling him to be wary of silence and solitude, for those things can become like quicksand. They take hold of the body, numbing it slowly with a touch like sand. That’s when it takes you under, into darkness. It starts to hurt once you’re already buried. The body becomes raw. It scrapes, irritating the skin, an all-consuming rugburn. Isolation shuts down function until every organ seems to stop, until even breathing becomes the hardest of chores. Ragged. Right now, it’s only a tingle, but it’s alright. He won’t be alone for long.

The quietness of Yuki’s mind has often felt sandy, admittedly, but more like a beach than a pit. When he closes his eyes, no matter where he is, it’s like disappearing entirely. Waves roll at the edge of his consciousness, gray and blue and gently teal. The ground under him is soft and damp; fragile, like it might give way any second. Wind brushes his hair. He could be anywhere. He could be away.

He used to give in to this  _ away-ness _ . During a concert, when fans were staring too hard. He could still play, could still sing, just… somewhere else. He could even go there during conversations. It was easy. His ears and mouth would run on autopilot, answering questions like he usually would. Nondescript. Form-fitting. Simple. Call it a type of invasive maladaptive daydreaming.

Nowadays, though, it feels cold. Lonely. Since when had he hated being alone? Even now, even with Momo… the moments where Yuki is left to his own devices are crippling.

Against the flooring of his own minds, there are footsteps in the sand. He creates them. He knows this. This fantasy world is of his own making, a kind of living purgatory. Water laps against the tracks, threatening to dissolve. He starts along them, his real body twitching as he lies on his mattress. Sand against his feet. Tracks left by boots. Faraway music, but it sounds broken. Like a voice. A shriek from the ocean. The tracks fade, leaving him standing ankle-deep in water. Gone, again. 

He keeps rebuilding the same scenario in his head, both on the psychological beach and outside it. What did he do wrong? Why? There’s such an intolerable absence. At this point, it irritates more than he aches. Yuki wonders, again, like he does over and over and has for months,  _ years _ , when he will be over this.

_ Why won’t you be more present? _ He had asked, and Yuki had shrugged him off. 

_ I am present. With you. Why would I care about anyone else? _

All turned shoulders. Eyes away. Backs away. They were often frustrated with each other, or rather,  _ he _ was frustrated with Yuki. After all, Yuki had always been selfish. Unemotional. Distant with anyone who hadn’t earned his trust, and even that one person too. Things changed after Momo came into the picture, but then they broke again. 

Yuki jolts, opening his eyes and sitting up. The blanket falls around his waist. His hair is messy with bedhead, but the first tinges of orange evening are showing through the window. He went to bed early last night. He hasn’t left his bed all day. 

After shooting for the drama all day yesterday, he’s exhausted. He’s not used to this sort of activity. Most days he has off, he spends in bed. 

He wants to stay there. He wants, so badly, to stay there, in the warmth, and go back to dreaming until Momo gets back. He wants it to be like any of those other nights, where Momo gets home and slips into bed with him, wrapping his arms around Yuki from behind. He wants to be held. Then, they’d sit up. Order food, since they can now. The money’s there. Eat it on the floor.

Still, Yuki knows that’s wrong. That’s not the way to cope. So he forces himself to stand, leaning against the wall and dragging himself to the bathroom. With discomfort will come needed change.

He showers, changes into decent clothing, combs out his air. He puts in the extra effort and braids the side before pulling it into a tiny bun. His hair’s longer than it’s ever been, which wasn’t necessarily intentional. It’s a needed change, even if it is slow. 

He makes his way to the kitchen, then goes through the fridge. They have enough ingredients to throw together some kind of hot pot, which sounds… nice. They haven’t had much time together between filming and Momo’s part-time jobs. Hopefully he’ll get to drop one of those soon, when Yuki can support both of them better. When the music they’ve been working on together get approved by their agency.

He pulls ingredients out of the fridge to get them ready. There’s plenty of produce. Plenty of meat. It’ll be ready for the two of them as soon as it can be cut. He’ll be able to do it this time. This will be the day it changes.

Yuki opens the drawer and carefully pulls out a knife. He gets a comfortable grip on it. Takes the cutting board out. Aligns the vegetables.

He cuts through the first carrot slowly, nervously, with his opposite hand gingerly resting on the dull side of the knife to keep it steady. A second cut.  _ Keep chopping. _

In his mind, the tide is going in. He embraces it. Sways into it. Sways, until it turns red, crimson and rolling. It burbles over the sand, burning everything it touches. The beach dissolves. A crumpled body, broken next to him. Yuki’s arm just barely grazed. Screaming. His, not Ban’s. Ban barely cried. He was like stone. He was quiet, just gently trembling as blood dripped down over his face, into his mouth, over his body. Half a face blurred out as if censored.

The knife falls from his hands. Too much. It nicks the side of his foot as it falls, and he winces. There’s a tiny burst of pain. When he looks down at the floor, his vision feels like it’s blurring. Like he’s staring into a kaleidoscope, all the pieces scattering as blood blooms in geometric patterns. 

He can’t breathe. His legs wobble. 

Momo comes from behind, pulling him into his arms right when Yuki thought he was going to fall.

“You hurt yourself,” he says, fear in his voice. “Are you alright?”

The wound is already numbing out. “It’s just a graze,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll be okay.”

“No, Yuki,” Momo says. “Are  _ you _ okay?”

“Mm,” Yuki says. There’s no good answer. 

He helps Yuki sit down on a nearby chair, then picks the knife up and washes it off in the sink. He wipes it off of the floor, then sanitizes. Momo is still wearing his coat and work clothes, still wearing his shoes. Yuki didn’t hear him come in because he was somewhere else, but Momo must have heard the clatter of the knife. 

“I’m trying to be better,” he says as Momo cleans. “I was hoping we could have hot pot, since it’s been so busy. I just…” Yuki shakes his head. “I just can’t seem to get past this one barrier with the sharp objects and blood.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Momo says. He turns to flash Yuki a gentle look.

Yuki moves to the sink and grabs a wet paper towel to dab the blood off of his foot with. Momo runs out of the room and quickly comes back with antibiotic ointment and bandages. 

“I can do it,” Yuki says.

Momo shakes his head. Smiles as always. “I’ve got it.”

Momo pushes up the leg of Yuki’s sweatpants to above his knee to keep it away from the blood. He wraps up Yuki’s foot, holding his leg in place. The bandage crosses over the middle of his foot, just around the arch. Yuki at first turns his face away, his cheeks hot, but as Momo hums, he flicks his gaze back.

His hair is damp from the snow outside, and his clothing as well. He hasn’t even taken his coat off yet, but pieces of snow have fallen to his collar and soaked through the shirt as they melted. He’s damp. He’s dutiful. God, he is gorgeous.

“You don’t have to do that,” Yuki says, voice hushed. “I can clean up my own messes.”

Momo presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Yuki’s calf, his eyes closing for a moment before he turns his stare up on Yuki. A shiver runs through him.

“What if I want to clean them up?” He says, the usual cheeriness of his voice now subdued, an electric undertone. 

He trails his touch around Yuki’s ankle. Momo presses his lips against the bony curve there. mouth slightly parting as he moves to kiss the top of his foot. 

Yuki tries to relax, leaning into Momo’s insinuation. He reaches down and curls his finger around a few locks of Momo’s hair and gently tugs. When Momo breathes in faster, he gets a harder grip and pulls enough to make him quietly gasp.

“Does my blood turn you on?” Yuki asks, teasing, but as he says it, his thoughts wander. “Odd how something that terrifies me so much could provide pleasure to another.”

Momo sits up on his knees, looking shocked. “ _ No _ , Yuki, it doesn’t, I wouldn’t. I was only playing-”

“I know you were-” Yuki says. He brushes his hand against Momo’ soft cheeks, running his thumb over his bottom lip. Some mix of anxiety and arousal dwells in his belly. “But I’m…. I’m not sure I’d be bothered if it did.”

Momo looks surprised and a little confused, but he slowly relaxes as Yuki watches gears turning in his head. “Do you want me to feel attracted to that? The idea of you being hurt makes me sad, Yuki.”

Momo practically hugs Yuki’s leg. Yuki shakes his head. 

“No, I just…” He trails off. “I’m so tired of these shards of what happened, like they’re constantly cutting into me. Like I’m bleeding even when I’m not.”

“That’s my Yuki,” Momo says. He pulls up a chair of his own and sits there, holding Yuki’s hand. “So dramatic! But so handsome.” 

He reaches and holds Yuki’s face in one hand before leaning forward and kissing him. Momo’s kiss tastes faintly sweet, like peach lip balm. Momo leans forward, one hand on the inside of Yuki’s thigh. The kiss is gentle. Loving. Then it’s playful, almost teasing.

When Momo pulls away, though, he has an odd look on his face.

“Momo,” Yuki says, questioning. “You’re thinking about something.”

The other man sticks the tip of his tongue out of his mouth to tease. He twirls a strand of Yuki’s hair in his fingers. “Hmm~”

“Out with it, then,” Yuki says. The anxiety from earlier has almost entirely left his body. Momo’s presence is like that. It seems to suck all the bad out of him, especially now, when he’s so much better than before.

“I just-” Momo starts. “I’m not turned on by blood. But, in theory, you could train someone to be. Right? Like, you have blood around when they’re hot and bothered and, like, it sticks. Now every time they see blood they flush.”

Yuki snickers. “That sounds inconvenient. What if you got a scrape or saw a nosebleed in an awkward location?”

“No, you know what I mean.” Momo pouts. “Only sometimes. When blood is in the bedroom.”

“So you want me to train you to be turned on by blood?” Yuki laughs. “I’m the last person who should be doing that.”

Momo nods. “Exactly.” He brushes Yuki’s hair behind one ear. “It’s not for me. It would be for you.”

It takes a moment to sink in. He’s confused at first, but as he wraps his brain around Momo’s words, it makes more and more sense. He shudders without meaning to.

“Mm… Momo, I don’t know…”

Momo holds his hands up. “No, no, you don’t have to! I’m sorry! It was just an idea.”

But Yuki keeps thinking about it. He bites his lip, playing absentmindedly with his long locks. Would he be able to handle it? The thought of blood and sex together feels sacrilegious; for him, at least. Those are two separate segments of his life with very different attached emotions.

But, in a way, aren’t they still similar? Doesn’t sex also remind him of things that hurt? Doesn’t blood, like Momo, remind him of his own pulse, of what he wanted to do but didn’t?

“Change the association,” he says, a murmur. He squeezes Yuki’s hand. “So I might stop being afraid… and associate it with something else.”

Momo nods. “That’s what I was thinking. But, I don’t know, it’s silly. I’d be too afraid to hurt you. Or, um, hurt me? I guess you could hurt me, too, if that would make it easier…” He laughs awkwardly. “I m-might be a little nervous, since it’d be my first real time with that, but also… exciting? Maybe?”

Yuki takes it all in, thinking. In his head, he envisions Momo, above him, a knife in his hand. Something small, something sharp. His legs around Momo’s waist. He imagines the heat between his thighs, the burning in his body with cut skin. And blood. His pulse quickens. He gasps suddenly, nerves making him shudder.

“Yuki?! Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he says. “I… I think I want to do it.”

Momo is quiet. Yuki looks up at him. He shrugs, a gentle smile on his head. “Okay. If you want to. And we can stop when it’s… when it’s too much.”

_ If  _ it is, Yuki thinks, but he just nods. He's kidding himself. He knows it will be too much. It has to be. That’s his test.

Fear, tense in his body. Hurting his hips. Making them ache. But something else, too. Desire. 

“Then let’s plan,” Yuki says. He’s nervous. He’s excited. “Figure out what we need to buy. The safe way to do it.”

Yuki pulls his calf up to step against the front of the chair Momo is in, between his legs. Momo watches quietly, watches as Yuki presses the ball of his foot into his groin. He twitches, and Yuki runs the movement of his foot up and down. He grinds it into Momo’s growing erection. His boyfriend strips the coat, strips the thin work jacket underneath. Leaves only the bottom shirt, which clings to his skin in all the right ways.

Momo grabs Yuki’s foot, stopping his movement. He presses his mouth, again, to the top of his foot. Right by the bandage. It’s embarrassing. He runs the soft, careful, touch of his fingers around his tender skin.

“Your skin is so soft,” he says. 

Yuki turn his face away, covers his mouth. Hides his blush. “Momo…”

He trails kisses up the side of his leg, his breath making Yuki shudder. When his sweatpants won’t push up any farther, Momo reaches for the waistband, gently pulling them down around Yuki’s hips. He gets on his knees on the floor, worshipping Yuki’s body, his waist, his thighs. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, nipping at the skin. “I love you. I love you. I love you, Yuki.”

Yuki cries out, his voice breathy as Momo sucks and bites and leaves love bites all over the inside of his thighs. It hurts, but Yuki doesn’t jerk away from it. 

He’s hard by the time Momo finally pays attention to his cock, wrapping his fingers around his length with a palm slick with spit. He twists his grip around, up and down, then takes the tip into his mouth. 

Yuki breathes slowly, closing his eyes as Momo dips down and off and down again, deeper each time. He’s agonizingly slow. Yuki feels himself dissolving into the touch, the sensation sending him deeper, sliding over him like ocean water warmed by the sun. Momo bobbing up and down. Winding his fingers through his thick, soft hair. 

“Momo,” he breathes. Gasping. Swimming. Drowning. “ _ Ah- _ ”

He jerks into Momo’s mouth, but the other man pushes his hips down with his free hand. He holds him back with unexpected strength, and Yuki fantasizes about the gentle curve of his muscles.

“Naughty Yuki,” he teases, pulling away. “I set the pace”

Momo dips down again, tantalizingly slow. He holds Yuki down so hard he feels he might bruise. God, he hopes he’ll bruise. He’s so close to finishing. He just needs a little more contact. Momo’s mouth is so warm.

“You’re so good,” he says. “Please.  _ Please. _ ”

Momo flicks his eyes up at him as he takes Yuki in as deep as he can go. His lips look soft even from here, dark eyelashes fluttering. His cheeks are flushed, eyes slightly damp with tears from suppressing his gag reflex. 

That’s enough. That sends Yuki over, and Momo pulls away in time for his cum to splatter his pretty cheeks.

Momo wipes some of it off and sucks it from his finger. He grabs a wet paper towel and dabs off the rest. Yuki pulls up his pants. Momo sighs, sitting on his lap. Yuki wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s body.

“I was going to tease you more,” he says, pouting. “Because you look so cute when you’re flustered. But you were begging, and I just can’t say no to your handsome face.”

Yuki plants a kiss on his cheek. “I like when you tease me. We can work on it.”

After a moment holding each other, Momo looks out toward the evening sky. 

“When do you wanna do this?” He says, squeezing Yuki’s thigh. “We can wait. Think about it, if you’re scared.”

“It’s better if I’m scared,” Yuki says. He’s decided. “As soon as we can. I want to.”

“Tonight?” Momo looks worried.

Yuki nods. “Can we?”

The other man looks nervous, but he softens as Yuki runs the backs of his fingers over his cheek. “Okay, Yuki. If you say so. Anything for you.”

_______________

It takes a bit to research, but eventually they find a late-night pharmacy online and travel to it. It’s cold out, the snow making Yuki’s fingers go numb. When Momo notices him rubbing his hands together, though, he offers him one of his gloves. Yuki had forgotten his.

“One of your hands will be cold, then,” he said, protesting. 

Momo shook his head. He looped his fingers through those of Yuki’s bare hand. “Not like this.”

There are a lot of different pieces involved, but Yuki is determined to keep them all in place. He writes a detailed inventory list of necessary items. Single-use, sterilized scalpels, the type medical students practice with. High gauge needles, just in case they decide they want them. Antiseptic soap. Rubbing alcohol. Saline solution. Gloves. Plenty of bandages and gauze. A sharps container. 

They find most of the items, as well as snacks, which Momo touts as “the most important part.”

“Aftercare!” He says, practically bouncing as they walk in the snow. “That’s the best part of all of this, right?”

Yuki isn’t sure. Usually, it’s the sex he thinks of as the best part. But what if it doesn’t go well?

“Yeah, Momo,” he says. “You’re right. That’s the best part.”

_______________

The two of them take a shower together. Momo is doting, just like he always is, to the point where it’s almost embarrassing. Yuki is flattered. Both of them use antiseptic soap to remove as much bacteria as possible. 

Yuki, disturbingly, isn’t that worried about scarring. He’s more worried about infection, an loving sort of heat that sends flares of red lines to the heart. Murderous intimacy, the kind that can go out of control. Almost obsessive. Codependent. But that’s not what he and Momo are. It’s different, more peaceful than the kind of love he’s used to. It’s not that he and Ban were explosive, exactly, or necessarily toxic. It just felt built on some sort of predisposition to be hurt. Why would they have a need for empathy? They knew each other enough to be cold. Sex was good. He loved him, but they were both so independent and prideful that nothing ever seemed to get through to the other, not all the way. Yuki knows it’s possible to be unbelievably close to someone and still feel alone. Once Ban was gone and he was actually alone, he wasn’t sure what to do.

No, not alone. Momo was always there. If he hadn’t been...

Momo pushes Yuki’s wet hair over one shoulder, out of the way. He kisses the nape of the neck.

“I adore you, Momo,” he says.

“What? You’re mumbling.” 

“Mm,” he says, turning to face him. He wraps his arms around Momo’s shoulders. “I just said I’m excited.” 

The two of them lay a plastic tarp out over their bed, and a clean, dark sheet over that. Yuki sits on the edge of the mattress while Momo sets out a tray. Then, he presses his hand against Yuki’s sternum and pushes him back to the bed. Momo straddles his hips. His hair is damp. He looks beautiful, his face surrounded in a halo from the dim lamp behind him.

“Do you want me to cut you, or… or you, me?” He asks, his hand gentle around Yuki’s throat, like he might choke him. His thumb runs over his adam’s apple. He rolls his hips down against Yuki’s erection. His face is flushed, expression nervous, dirty, endearing. He’s everything at once. Yuki is so in love, and so,  _ so _ turned on.

“I…” Yuki closes his eyes for a moment and forces himself to imagine sitting over Momo, a scalpel or needle in hand. He imagines cutting him, the razor-sharp edge of the blade opening his skin like butter. He imagines blood, thick and crimson, growing from the cut and spilling in one slow stream. 

He keeps his eyes closed, squeezing Momo’s thigh. The other man presses his palm over his hand.

“Yuki?”

His hand, shaking. A stray cut going too deep. Momo, crying. Screaming. So much blood,  _ so much blood.  _ Why did it the lighting fixture fall? Someone was above the stage, someone was pulling the strings, and they’d meant for it to happen to Yuki, so  _ why is he bleeding? _ Yuki isn’t even sure who he’s thinking about. The face in his head flickers between two different people.

He opens his eyes, breathing sharply. “You should cut me. I just… I’m not ready. You go first.”

Momo looks nervous, but he nods and smiles, as always. Beautiful smile. 

“Okay,” he says, then leans forward and kisses Yuki. Yuki brings his lips to meet him. It’s soft, then passionate, and he wraps his fingers around the back of Momo’s neck before the other man pulls away. He points, commanding. “Lay back.”

Yuki does as he’s told, laying back on the bed with his head against the pillow. They’ve used only sheets they don’t care about. As Momo sanitizes the skin of his thighs and chest and arms with rubbing alcohol. Yuki lays there with his palms up, trying not to move when the spaces are clean.

Bandages out. Tools ready. Sharps container to the side. Yuki practices slow breathing.

Momo looks even more nervous than Yuki feels. He bites his lip, holding a scalpel up to the light. Yuki reaches and holds his hand.

“It’s okay,” he says, finding strength in reassuring his partner. “I want this.”

“Okay,” Momo says, slowing down. He sets the scalpel to the side. “Okay. If you…. if you want me to stop, tell me. I will. If it’s too deep, if it hurts too bad-”

“ _ Momo. _ ” He sits up, grabbing the other man’s face. “It will be okay. I believe in you. You won’t cut too deep. If anything, you’ll cut too shallow. I trust you.”

As the words come out of his mouth, Yuki knows they’re true, and he feels better. Momo nods. Yuki brings his hand between Momo’s legs, stroking his cock. He’s mostly flaccid, but shudders at Yuki’s touch. 

The two of them kiss again, and Yuki brings his mouth to Momo’s neck, dragging small love bites. He jerks Momo off until he’s at least half hard.

“Is that motivating?” He asks, flashing a smile at Momo. 

“Mm,” he says, nodding. His eyes go calm, narrowing.  _ There it is. _ A heat settles deep in Yuki’s groin, and he lays back as Momo pushes him to the bed by the neck. “Alright, Yuki. For you.”

Momo straddles Yuki’s knees. He brings the scalpel to his thigh, to the fatty upper layer. Yuki shivers, holding his eyes shut as he makes the first cut.

It doesn’t hurt at first. It’s smooth, a single. Then, the feeling breaks through his body. A shiver. He hisses, eyes flashing open. Momo isn’t looking at him. He’s focused, staring at the skin of Yuki’s leg.

Yuki’s afraid to look. He wants to stay looking at the ceiling, stay staring at those dizzy little swirls of stars he gets when he’s dizzy. But he can’t.

“Are you okay?” Momo asks. 

“Show me,” he says, swallowing. “Show me the knife.”

Momo is hesitant, but he brings it up. Red, tinging the edge of the knife. 

It’s so simple, almost anticlimactic. It doesn’t feel like his blood, though he knows it is. He nods, relieved that he feels almost nothing.

“Do you want to look at your leg?”

“No,” he says. “Keep going.”

He watches Momo go back to work, his hair falling over his eyes. He looks gorgeous when he’s focused, so gorgeous Yuki almost forgets the scalpel. But it stings. It stings, and he feels himself dripping blood. His thighs are warm, but the scalpel is so cool. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s half hard until he feels Momo shoving his thighs apart again.

“ _ Yuki, _ ” he teases, flicking his tongue against his teeth. “You’re rubbing against yourself. Does it feel good?”

It does. God, it does. His thighs sting. He nods.

“Can you say it out loud?” Momo has a devilish look on his face, his eyes practically sparkling. He’s into it. He draws the scalpel carefully, ever so slowly, over the skin of Yuki’s other thigh.

Yuki whimpers. “It feels good.”

“Good. Don’t move,” Momo says. He holds the bloody scalpel up. His usually cheerful voice goes low, and he runs his gaze over Yuki’s body like someone hungry. “I might accidentally cut you too deep.”

Yuki shivers underneath him. He tries to bring his hands to Momo’s body, to grip on to something, but the other man holds his wrists above his hand with one hand. He sets the scalpel to the side and leans forward, kissing Yuki. Yuki’s thighs burn so sweetly, a gentle sort of pain. 

When Momo pulls away, Yuki is breathless, and  _ curious. _ He sits up, pushing against Momo’s confusion, and stares at his thighs. His vision goes blurry.

Blood. Not as much as he’d thought, but blood. It runs down his thighs in tiny single rivulets, clean and precise. Against the bed. 

“Are you okay?” Momo asks, slow and cautious.

Yuki thinks. Nods. Tries to blink away the anxiety, the dizziness. He reaches down, smearing his fingers through two of the strings. He holds them up, taking into his mind how the red looks against his pale skin. It’s not how he remembered it, dark and gory. It’s a total different type of blood. It’s bright. It’s clean, and medical.

Before he can stop himself, he dips the fingers into his mouth and licks off the blood.

“ _ Yuki- _ ” Momo’s eyes go wide. “What are you doing?”

It tastes barely metallic; tastes like barely anything at all. It feels good smeared against his lips. 

He runs his fingers through the blood between his legs again, then slowly draws a line with it down Momo’s body, from his collarbone to just below his belly button. His breath catches in his throat with the sight of his own blood on Momo’s body.

Momo takes Yuki’s fingers into his mouth and sucks off the rest of the blood. Instead of letting go, though, he swirls his tongue around the digits. He takes his time sucking, making small breathy sounds, playing it up. Yuki laughs.

“Momo-”

He pulls away, saliva making a string between Yuki’s fingers and his mouth. He flashes a smile, a spot of blood still left on his lips. “What, you want me to suck the real thing?”

“You’re silly.”

They both laugh, kissing again, before Momo presses Yuki’s arms to the mattress, palms up.

He stares him deep in the eye, serious now. “It might scar for a bit. Are you okay with it?”

“It’s winter.” Yuki smiles. “And since when do I wear short sleeves, anyway?

Momo changes gloves, just in case. Brings the scalpel back to his body. Makes one shallow, slow, horizontal cut on Yuki’s arm, an inch below the elbow. Then, the other side, the same position. Parallel. Yuki breathes slowly. He closes his eyes again, but stays where he is. No daydreaming. No waves. He wants to feel every sensation. He wants to hear every word. He doesn’t want to miss any of this.

He feels himself moving without realizing. He dips one hand between his legs to touch himself, but Momo pushes his hand away.

“No, Yuki,” he says, teasing. “That’s my job.”

Another cut on each side. This time, closer to the hand. Over old, old scars. When he was a younger teenager, before the music really got going, he used to make them. Not now. Right now it’s intimate, slow, warm. He brings his arms up to wrap around the back of Momo’s neck, and blood drips down his biceps in small, trickling streams.

“Does it hurt too much?”

“It doesn’t hurt enough,” he breathes. “I want it to hurt more.”

Momo brings his gloved fingertips to some of the cuts in his legs. He presses against the sides, irritating the cuts. Yuki cries out. He thumbs the lacerations, and Yuki wonders what he would do if they were deeper.

“Your body is soft, Yuki,” Momo says, quiet. He applies hard pressure to the wounds, making Yuki cry out. Whimper. “I was afraid of seeing you in pain. But…”

“You like it too much, don’t you? You’re so naughty, Yuki.” He jams his thumb against one of the deeper cuts, hard. Yuki winces, shuddering. Curls away from his touch. Curls  _ into _ it.

“I want you,” Yuki gasps. “I want you, now.” 

Momo spreads Yuki’s legs fast, getting between them. He digs his fingers into the sensitive areas. One gloved hand goes to Yuki’s mouth, pressing his finger in. Yuki licks off the blood. It tastes of latex. Momo shoves his fingers deeper, making Yuki gag.

When he pulls his hand back, Momo throws away the gloves. They’re dirty, now, and there are plenty more. Yuki thinks-- _ hopes _ \--that Yuki will touch him, will press into him and prepare him and  _ god, just fuck him already. _ Insteads, he moves forward, settling his hips around Yuki’s neck. 

“Do you want me to be gentle with you, Yuki?” He asks, his tone almost cutesy, though Yuki’s sure Momo knows exactly how he will answer. “Or rough?”

“Rough,” Yuki breathes. “Use me. It hurts so perfectly.”

“Okay,” he says. “But tap three times for me to stop.”

Momo strokes his cock before pressing into Yuki’s waiting mouth. His hips twitch. Yuki moves his tongue around the tip, moving his neck awkwardly forward. When Momo curls his fingers through his hair and takes control, it’s a relief.

Yuki wraps his bloodied arms around Momo’s muscular thighs. Momo gently rolls his hips back and forth, and Yuki feels comfortably. He lets himself be used, sucking him off as best he can from his angle. 

Slowly, though, he increases the pace. He jerks his hips forward, making Yuki gag. Then, he pulls off. Jerks forward, back. Yuki’s eyes start to water, and he focuses on breathing through his nose. 

Momo pushes forward, holding his head in place, tapping the back of his throat. Yuki gags, coughing on Momo’s cock. Tears come, flowing from his eyes. His cheeks are hot, and he can barely breathe.  _ Through your nose. Through your nose. _

“I feel so bad looking at you like this,” Momo says, sounding genuinely upset. He takes Yuki’s face and pushes it as far as it will go, until his nose is touching Momo’s groin. “You’re dirty, Yuki. You’re bad to make me want to do this.”

Yuki makes a tiny panicked noise, whimpering. He almost goes to tap three times, but stops himself by digging his nails into Momo’s thighs so deep he might have punctured skin. Momo jerks, hissing, making Yuki take even more of him in. His mouth feels so full. He feels so full.

He thinks Momo will pull away, but he doesn’t. Instead, his partner reaches for a needle. He uncaps it, then trails the sharp end of it over Yuki’s cheek.

Momo doesn’t speak. He just moves the sharp object across Momo’s face, his stretched lips, the curve of his neck. Teases, scratching the very top of the skin, like he might go into the jugular. Yuki shudders, panicked breathing through his nose as he holds back his gagging. Momo puts a little pressure on the needle, puncturing just the very top of the skin near Yuki’s jawline. Enough to go red, but not to bleed. It will heal fast. It’s coverable with makeup.

“Good boy,” Momo says, and finally pulls out. “My sweet, obedient Yuki.”

Yuki gasps for air, coughing and relinquishing his hard grip on Momo’s thighs. He tries to catch his bearings. His throat feels raw, his mouth gaping. 

“Was that too much?”

He shakes his head and starts to speak, but his throat is raw. He coughs. 

Momo rests his fingers by the scalpels. “Do you want to try?” He asks, almost nervous. “On me?”

Yuki’s heart beats faster. Faster. He’s so beyond hard, and he just wants to get fucked into the bed by Momo right now. But he also wants the blood, wants it deeply, wants to let himself feel it, heal from it, grow fond of it.

He takes a moment, then nods. 

The two of them sit up. “The safest place is the back,” Yuki says, his voice raw. “The upper back. Away from the spine.” 

Momo smiles and switches places with him, lying on his stomach. Yuki stares down at the curve of his muscles, the impeccable, soft skin of his back.

He pulls on gloves, takes the rubbing alcohol and gauze, and cleans the skin across Momo’s shoulder blades. It’s cool, and Momo shivers underneath him. He’s moving his hips involuntarily, rubbing his cock against the sheets. Yuki holds his thigh, pausing his movement.

“Still,” he says, from the quietest and gentlest part of him. “Be still for me, Momo. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He takes the scalpel in his hand. While building the courage, he runs the dull side of it over Momo’s skin, teasing him. He watches him twitch, watches him breathe into the bed.

Yuki turns it to the sharp side. He makes a slow, clean, cut across the right side of Momo’s back. Then the left. Momo does his best to be unmoving, bunching his fingers in the sheets. Yuki feels himself getting harder just from watching his lover struggle.

They’re deeper than he’d thought they were, the blood coming quickly. Fear makes his pulse quicken, and he dabs it away with gauze. His vision feels blurred, and his mind threatens to escape, to go away to darkness, to shattered lights and glass on the floor and screaming. But he stays. 

He looks at the cuts and realizes they’re not as deep as he’d thought. Yuki keeps his hold on the scalpel firm, and draws another cut. Momo sighs, a long, shuddered sound. His blood is dark, and warm. It trickles over his muscle and down his back to the spine in a slow line. The light glints off of it, deep orange and red.

Beautiful. Erotic.

Yuki makes another cut. Momo breathes slowly. Yuki presses a small kiss to the nape of his neck, just between and above two cuts. Momo lets out a quiet moan. 

Momo’s skin cuts like butter, just like he’d thought. What had been terrifying, however, now feels controllable. This is an exact science, like what he’s used to. He measures distance. He’s careful. He’s controlled. His movements are slow, and Momo’s quiet sounds of pleasure and pain make him want to dig his fingers into the wounds and reach to the heart of him. 

He wants everything of Momo. He wants the cool outside, the tan skin. He wants the soft hair. The warmth of his mouth. He wants his cock, long and thick inside him. He wants the red of his body. He wants his love bites. He wants his blood. His skin. His body’s crimson kiss.

“Yuki’s words are so beautiful,” Momo breathes, and Yuki realizes he’s been speaking out loud.

“Are you afraid?” Yuki breathes. So much blood. He wants to cut Momo more. He wants Momo to cut  _ him _ more. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I trust you,” Momo says, face turned on his side. He laughs. “Yuki’s so sexy, like a surgeon. Are you a sadist?”

Yuki flushes, turning his face away. He puts the scalpel away and gets off of Momo’s body, lying next to him. They’re both bloody. He kisses him, and wraps his fingers around Momo’s cock. He’s just as hard as he was before. Yuki’s body stings, every cut like fire.

“You’re a masochist for sure,” Momo says, snickering, but his laugh turns into a moan as Yuki tugs on his length. “ _ Oh- _ ”

Momo flips over Yuki, pushing him onto his back. He pulls Yuki’s legs up, shimmying down the bed so that he can take his cock into his mouth. He just barely ghosts across the tip, though, teasing his tongue over pre-cum. 

Momo moves to the side. He flicks his tongue against one of the cuts, sliding against it, and Yuki cries out. He jerks, grabbing the bedding, and rolls his hips upward. It hurts. Momo tongues one of the cuts, eating it out. It’s deeper than any of the ones Yuki gave him, less practiced, but it feels like heaven in the most burning way. 

Tears well in Yuki’s eyes again from the stinging pain of it. Momo drags the rough pad of his tongue across Yuki’s cuts, stimulating the tender wounds. Yuki bites back his anxieties of infection, letting himself get lost in Momo’s mouth. When Yuki looks at him, there’s blood smeared across one perfect cheek

Momo’s lips move lower, his tongue pressing against his entrance.

Yuki covers his face with his hands, hiding his flush as Momo moves his tongue against him. He breathes sharply, every breath and movement between his legs feeling enough to make him come. But he doesn’t.

“Momo, please-”

“What do you want, Yuki?” Momo teases, pulling away. He flashes a toothy grin. “You have to tell me.”

“I want you. Fuck me.”

“Oh? So filthy. Want me how?” Momo holds Yuki’s wrists down, grinding his hips into his cock. They’re both painfully hard. Yuki isn’t sure how he’s showing so much restraint.

Yuki tries to avoid his flush. He starts to turn his face away, but Momo just grabs his jaw and makes him look at him.

“I want you inside me,” Yuki says, his voice quiet. “I want you to fuck me so hard it hurts. I want you to smear my own blood across your body, and I want to taste your blood on my lips.”

Momo snaps, his playful expression going dirty and desperate. He fumbles for the lube bottle, gathering some in his fingers and pressing two digits against Yuki’s hole. It stings at first, intense, but Momo is careful. He knows how to prepare him. They know each others bodies like no other. They’ve had nothing  _ but _ each other’s bodies until very recently.

He curls his fingers inside, making Yuki moan, breathy and deep.

When he’s ready, Momo presses inside. He’s slow and careful, taking it gently until his whole length is inside. Yuki groans, shivering as his partner starts moving. His rhythm is gentle at first, loving and vanilla. He gets faster, though, gripping Yuki’s hips like a handle and using him.

Momo pulls out all the way and flips Yuki over, shoving his face into the sheets. He presses a gentle kiss to the nape of Yuki’s neck, a brief reminder of his love, before pushing back into him, hard and fast and unwarned.

Yuki gasps, jerking into the bed. Momo gets a grip in Yuki’s hair, tugging his head back as he fucks him. Yuki tries to hold himself up on his hands, but his arms are weak. They sting from his cuts, and shudder. He falls. But Momo keeps going, bringing one hand to the front of Yuki’s body to pay attention to his cock. 

He strokes him, and Yuki is  _ so close, _ already pushed halfway there by the intensity of the blood, and by Momo eating out his wounds. Momo fucks him so hard he knows he’ll sting tomorrow, that walking will feel awkward for a bit. It’s rough. He cries out, his cheeks hot. The smell and taste of blood is everywhere. He can barely even gasp. There isn’t enough air in the space he has between his face and the mattress, where Momo’s pushed him down. It hurts so much, overstimulating and painful and arousing all at once.

Momo pulls him up, holding their torsos together, his fingers around Yuki’s chest. Yuki turns his head to the side, and Momo kisses him from behind. A few quick, rolling, jerks of his hips, and Momo comes inside him, hot and thick and simulating.

He pulls out, but keeps touching Yuki. His kisses are unrelenting and desperate. Yuki barely has any time to breathe before he comes in Momo’s hand. He falls against the bed, collapsing into the pillow.

It takes Yuki a moment before he feels comfortable moving again. He hears Momo wipe the cum off of his hand, and then his partner is behind him, arms wrapped around his body, warm and gentle.

“Was that good?” Momo asks, kissing the back of his neck. “I felt so bad, I was worried you were upset, or hurt…”

“No,” Yuki says, breathing quietly. He presses back against Momo, trying to get closer to his arms. “It was perfect. You were perfect, Momo.”

Momo breathes in through his nose sharply. “Ah… I’m so glad. I love you, Yuki.”

When they’re ready, they pull themselves from the bloody sheets and go to the shower. The cuts sting, and both of them hiss when they first get in. They soon turn to laughter, though, and after cleaning up and taking out the laundry and getting rid of dirty tools, they finally collapse into bed to sleep. It’s well into the night. They’ll both be late risers tomorrow.

“So, how are you feeling?” Momo asks, staring at Yuki across the pillow. They’re just inches away from each other. “Did it work?”

Yuki pauses. He pulls his bandaged arm up, looking at the faded bloodstains under the fabric. His heart beats quicker, but there’s none of the usual panic. Just a comfortable intrigue, and adrenaline.

“I’m not sure,” Yuki says, though he is. He gives Momo a sly smile. “We might have to try that again.”   
  



End file.
